


Awhile

by violia



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: AND THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED!, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Bathing/Washing, Bedsharing, Cisswap, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cunnilingus, F/F, First Time, Fluff, Getting Together, Hair Washing, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, Rule 63, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25998928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violia/pseuds/violia
Summary: There’s a weird, crawling tension that permeates a room in the moments before a tavern brawl begins. Merlin would really be paying much closer attention to the potential danger, if only she wasn’t so suddenly and completely captivated by a mysterious woman, who holds a tankard of ale in her hands and has a self-assured grin on her lips.
Relationships: Gwaine/Merlin (Merlin)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 54
Collections: Rule 63 Exchange 2020





	Awhile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skatzaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/gifts).



> Alternative summary: In which skatzaa asked for getting-together hurt/comfort with bedsharing, hair care, cuddling and intimacy, and I said you know what?! I’m going to give skatzaa getting-together hurt/comfort with bedsharing, hair care, cuddling and intimacy. It’s way more comfort than hurt, and also there’s some bathing in there too, but I really hope you enjoy! 
> 
> This fic turned into a monster and I would have been lost without the constant encouragement and support from my betas, [amata_2019](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amata_2019), Sarah, K and L. Thank you so much! 
> 
> This tv show doesn't really care about historical inaccuracies, so I didn’t worry about them in this fic either. 
> 
> Lastly, I found reference pics helpful when writing this fic. Here is the [Merlin reference pic](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/fa/32/09/fa32093b61554768a97aa7ac75dae27e.jpg) and [Gwaine reference pic](https://www.themarysue.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/ThorSif.jpg) that I used.

They are in a shabby tavern in the middle of something that could only generously be called a town. It should be a peaceful night’s supper and rest, but of course, because it’s Arthur that Merlin constantly has to deal with, things inevitably have gone awry. 

Case in point: 

“Take your hands off her,” Arthur’s calm, unyielding voice echoes through the small tavern. He’s talking to a local thug, a bulky man with a squished, mean face and a truly horrifying hair situation. It had been a peaceful evening, until he had sauntered through the door and decided to hold the tavern owner at knifepoint. 

The thug clearly has no survival instinct, because instead of backing away he lunges at Arthur, knife held high—only for Arthur to sidestep him easily and then him into a wall. 

Satisfaction settles over Merlin as the thug groans and gets to his feet. 

“You’re going to pay for that,” his low voice threatens Arthur. 

Merlin scoffs into her drink, unable to hold back a disbelieving giggle. 

“I’d like to see you try,” she says. 

In her defence, her confidence cannot be a  _ bad  _ thing, can it? It displays how much she believes in Arthur! How far they’ve come since their first tense meeting. 

But she’s not sure Arthur sees it that way, not when the thug stares at Merlin and then whistles; clearly a call to action, because suddenly a great number of similarly scruffy-looking men file into the bar. 

“You just had to open your big mouth, didn’t you?” Arthur asks her, sarcastic. 

Merlin is on the verge of snarking something bitchy back at him. Screw decorum—they’re on the verge of a bar brawl here! No one is going to go whining back to Uther about how Arthur’s servant spoke to him now. But Merlin closes her mouth when, seemingly out of nowhere, a woman steps into view. 

Merlin’s eyes almost bulge out of their sockets, because this woman is unlike any woman Merlin has ever seen in her life. 

The first thing that Merlin notices is that she’s tall. Merlin is a perfectly average height, and this woman looks to be a bit taller—she could possibly even look Arthur straight in the eyes, because he is shorter than he’d like to admit. 

As Merlin takes in her face, she judges the woman to be not much older than herself. Her skin looks smooth and slightly tanned. Merlin’s eyes linger, for a moment, on her sharp jawline. The woman’s hair is a rich, warm brown colour, lighter than Merlin’s own hair, which is a deep brown that many mistake for black. 

What really strikes Merlin the most, however, is the woman’s clothes. 

She isn’t wearing a dress or skirt. She is in  _ trousers _ . Her blue blouse looks feminine, laced up in the centre, but she has a longer, looser shirt draped over her shoulders, much more a man’s style than a woman’s. The shirt is not buttoned up, and through the opening of it Merlin can see the woman’s blouse cinched in at the waist. Such a thing would be expected of a woman’s blouse, except that this woman’s waist is circled not by a drawcord on a dress but by the ties of her trousers, dark and laced up and stretching long down her legs. 

Merlin can’t stop looking at her legs. 

There are  _ two of them _ . 

Obviously Merlin knows, whenever she looks at another woman, that they have two legs. She can see their feet and ankles; she’s not disputing their existence. But to actually be able to see both legs? The woman’s trousers are loose but not overly baggy. They curve around her hips and taper down her legs, the ends rolled up and stitched together to accommodate her height. 

Something about the sight makes Merlin’s mouth go dry. The woman’s appearance is such a mix of feminine and masculine silhouettes. It should confuse Merlin. Instead, she is only intrigued. 

In fact, Merlin is so captivated by the sight before her that she only barely manages to catch the first words that actually leave the woman’s mouth. 

“You two have got yourselves in a bit of a pickle, haven’t you?” she asks. Her voice is so smooth and steady. The steps that she takes across the room are measured and relaxed. She exudes confidence with every movement; she seems sharply interested and completely unbothered all at once. 

Merlin cannot drag her eyes away from her. 

“M’lady, I suggest you get out of here while you still can,” Arthur tells her. Merlin appreciates the respectful tone in his voice. 

“Mm,” the woman says, noncommittal. She comes to a halt in front of the thug and glances around the room. Her gaze falls on Merlin, and for a split second, Merlin can’t breathe. She is sure her eyes are still blown wide open. 

“You’re probably right,” the woman replies. Her tone is conceding. She takes a swig of ale from her tankard, then holds it out to the thug, so that he has no choice but to reach out and take it from her hands. 

There’s silence as he glances down at it, his thick, ugly brows furrowed in confusion. When he looks back up at the woman, she raises her hand—

And she punches him, square in the face. It’s powerful enough that it forces the thug backwards and down onto his knees, his hands coming up instinctively to cover his eyes. Merlin barely has a second to glance at Arthur’s reaction—he looks a bit shocked, is all she can gather—before suddenly, the tavern erupts into yelling and movement. 

Now, Merlin has been in her fair share of fights and battles. As Arthur bands together with the few patrons in the tavern against the onslaught of burly men, Merlin deftly watches the crowd for anywhere she can assist. Arthur had once tried to give her a talk about how she should flee immediately and seek safety if they were ever caught in a brawl unawares. He had decided to end that conversation abruptly when he saw the unamused expression on Merlin’s face. Yeah, right. Try again, Arthur. 

Merlin’s keen eyes keep a handle on the fight’s progress. She dodges the thug’s supporters, careening left and right. When two of them approach her, determined and mean, she quickly casts a spell that flings a nearby bench into them, smashing across their chests. Merlin watches only long enough to see them fall to the ground before she races over to the tavern bar and slides underneath it. When Merlin stands, she’s now on the barmaid’s side, efficiently placing a physical barrier between her and the attackers, and also putting herself into an easily defensible position from which she can survey the fight and see where her help is required. 

She immediately sees an opportunity: Merlin crashes a jug over the head of a man who has followed her across the room. The barmaid aims another jug into his head for good measure, and Merlin nods her head approvingly. Someone throws a plate in their direction, and Merlin decides to retaliate, using a quick spell to fling plates at the other men now running towards her position. 

All in all, Merlin is having an extremely effective response to an extremely unexpected situation. She’s about to take a moment to congratulate herself for being so useful, when suddenly, she’s approached by someone else—someone who is definitely not a manly, lumpy thug. 

The woman is hauling a limp man under her arm. When she reaches the bar, she drops him gracelessly to the floor, flips her messy, wavy hair over her shoulder and extends an arm. 

“Pass the jug, please?” she asks. Her voice sounds different than it did before, clouded by breaths of exertion. Her chest is heaving. A small bead of sweat lingers on the side of her forehead. 

There’s an entire bar fight going on around them, but Merlin feels most overwhelmed in this current moment, confronted by a startlingly beautiful woman who is asking her for a drink of ale in the middle of beating up a gang of men. 

Merlin wordlessly turns around, retrieves the jug, and passes it into the woman’s hand. She desperately begs her fingers not to fumble, and she succeeds, but only just. It’s worth it for the appreciative glance the woman affords her as she takes a swig. Merlin feels riveted by that eye contact, but it’s unfortunately interrupted by another approaching attacker. 

“Uh!” Merlin cries out, a wordless note of warning. She needn’t have worried. The woman seems to have eyes in the back of her head: she quickly closes her fist to deliver another nose-crushing punch to the man’s face. He falls immediately and heavily to the floor. 

The woman whirls back around to Merlin, hair flying in the process. Although she should really continue her close surveillance of the room, Merlin finds herself distracted by how shiny and soft the woman’s hair looks. It should look disheveled from all of the fighting. Instead, it just looks attractively windswept. Merlin wonders what it would feel like if she touched it. 

“What do they call you, then?” the woman asks, breaking through Merlin’s split-second thoughts. 

Merlin blinks. “Merlin.” 

“Gwaine,” the woman introduces herself. She holds out her hand. Merlin, acting completely without thinking, returns the handshake, eyes still glued to the woman’s—Gwaine’s—face. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

Merlin wants to reply—she desperately wants to tell Gwaine how much of a pleasure it really has been for Merlin to meet her—but another man is suddenly racing towards Gwaine, and all Merlin can shout is “Watch out!” 

Gwaine whirls around and smashes the man’s head with the jug she’d been holding. He also plummets immediately to the ground. Merlin barely has time to think before Gwaine is speaking to her again. 

“Such a waste, isn’t it?” Gwaine muses. There’s a conspiratorial note to her tone, as though she’s sharing a secret with Merlin. Her eyes twinkle and her lips are curled into a dashing smile. Merlin’s stomach flips. 

Gwaine throws herself back into the fight, and Merlin now finds herself trying to keep track of not only Arthur, but Gwaine as well. 

And then the main thug throws Arthur to the ground and pulls out a knife. 

Everyone in the room freezes. Hand to hand combat is one thing, but a knife is a massive power play. The thug knows it, too; he grins, an ugly, mangled stretch of his mouth. He takes a step forward, advancing on Arthur—but then Gwaine lets out a low, angry growl and  _ runs  _ at him, full force. It all happens in less than a second: Gwaine bowls the thug to the ground, and in the process, the thug’s knife becomes buried in her thigh. 

The crowd of people in the tavern hurriedly shift backwards in a wave, leaving enough room for the two to fall to the floor. Before she knows it, Merlin is already there—she has no recollection of her feet carrying her over to Gwaine, but they must have. She breaks through the crowd just in time to watch Gwaine struggle to her feet, overbalancing, and tipping over again, smashing her head on the side of a bench before falling limp to the floor. 

Merlin is immediately on her knees. With wide, worried eyes she examines the knife stabbed into Gwaine’s thigh, the injury that had brought her down. Merlin is concerned about her head, too—it wasn’t a small knock, Gwaine fell with all her bodyweight—but the leg is Merlin’s most immediate concern because of the blood starting to pool out of it. She snaps into her training instinctively. With a bandage in her hand (Arthur is always getting into scrapes, so Merlin’s made a habit of keeping bandages on her person at all times when travelling), Merlin begins to weave it around Gwaine’s leg, applying pressure as close to the wound as she can without removing the knife—that must be done later, in Gaius’ presence, when they have all their tools and poultices and magic with them. 

“How is she?” Arthur has materialised by Merlin’s side. Merlin can’t decipher the tone in Arthur’s voice; she doesn’t have time. 

“Not good,” Merlin says. “She’s losing a lot of blood. I need Gaius,  _ now _ .” 

“We will bring her back to Camelot,” Arthur replies, and that’s exactly what they do. 

* * *

Merlin walks up the stairs to her bedroom with something like trepidation in her heart. 

Logically, she has no reason to feel nervous. She and Arthur had brought Gwaine back to Gaius quite promptly. With Merlin’s assistance, Gaius was able to treat Gwaine quickly and effectively. The wound on her thigh was still nasty and would take awhile to heal, but Gaius seemed confident that there was only a low risk of potential infection. 

Though head wounds were usually worrying, in Gwaine’s case, it was definitely the most minor of her two injuries. Certainly, Gaius would need to examine Gwaine when she awakened to assess her mental acuity, but the wound itself was only a bruised scrape. Overall, Gaius didn’t seem concerned. Gwaine would need at least several days of bedrest, but as Gaius noted, Gwaine was young, strong and healthy—she had every chance in the world of a full recovery. 

_ So _ , Merlin asks herself sternly,  _ why do I feel as though I have a horde of angry butterflies stampeding in my stomach?  _

As she reaches her bedroom door, she tries to steel herself. Merlin carries a tray of food—the best the cooks had to offer, as per Arthur’s orders—so she opens the door with one hand and peeks inside. 

Her eyes lock with Gwaine’s, wide open and searching. 

The butterflies are positively  _ frenzied _ . 

“Good morning,” Merlin blurts out, pasting on a cheerful smile. She lets herself inside and closes the door. 

“What am I doing in this bed?” Gwaine asks. When Merlin glances back at her, she notices how Gwaine is holding herself awkwardly tense. Her eyes keep darting around the room. Merlin realises that Gwaine does not know where she is, and Merlin immediately scolds herself. 

“You’re in my room,” Merlin tells her quickly. “In the castle of Camelot.” 

“Eh?!” Gwaine jerks upright, then winces. Her voice has raised into a higher pitch. Even confused, she sounds lovely. “The castle?” 

“You saved Prince Arthur’s life. Of course we brought you back to Camelot.” Merlin, eager to avoid the fact that she just thought of Gwaine’s voice as  _ lovely _ , walks across her room to place the tray of food next to her bed. “Prince Arthur’s own physician saw to your wounds.” 

“Fuck,” Gwaine sighs. She slumps back down into the bed. “Well. I probably wouldn’t have saved him if I knew who he was.” 

It’s Merlin’s turn to feel confused. She glances at Gwaine quizzically. “What do you mean?” 

Gwaine raises her eyebrows at Merlin. “He’s a noble,” she drawls. 

“Um, yes,” Merlin says. “He is. So is his father, the King; he wants to meet you.” 

“No,” Gwaine immediately vetoes. Merlin feels even more confused. Gwaine seems to sense this, because she explains, “I’ve travelled a lot, Merlin. Once you’ve met one king, you’ve met them all.” 

Merlin pauses. That… is not what she was expecting to hear, and it derails her momentum. Eventually, though, she just shrugs. “Well, I don’t know about kings, but Arthur is different to any other prince you’ve ever met.” 

Gwaine raises an eyebrow. “You’re going to sit there and tell me that Arthur is  _ not _ a spoilt, brash buffoon who prefers to talk with his fist instead of his mouth?” 

Merlin opens her mouth. She closes it. She opens it again and says, diplomatically, “Well, he’s only like that half the time.” 

That sparks a loud, amused laugh from Gwaine, and Merlin feels her lips twitch too. 

“See? Just like I said.” Gwaine relaxes down into the bed, seeming more comfortable in this new setting now that the awkward tension between them has broken. “Besides, I don’t have time to visit some king anyway.” 

Merlin tilts her head, dubious. “You have a leg wound and a solid bump on your head. You’ll need to be on bedrest for at  _ least _ a week. I think you’ll have plenty of time to visit the king.” 

“Aye, you’re correct. I’m on bedrest in a beautiful woman’s bedroom, being brought the best food and drink that Camelot has to offer.” Gwaine nods at the tray in Merlin’s hands, looking intensely smug. “You better believe I don’t have time for anything else.” 

Merlin’s mouth drops open in shock. Is she—did she just—? A furious blush races across Merlin’s cheeks before she can stop it. Her eyes drop to the floor. She cannot look at Gwaine’s amused gaze, those eyes that lock with hers so intensely, taking the time to actually look into Merlin in a way few others bother to do. 

Merlin hates feeling like she’s dithering, and right now she is definitely  _ dithering _ , skittish and knocked off-kilter, her brain dancing around thoughts she cannot yet confront. She hates it, so she quickly does something about it and diverts to safer topics. 

“Would you like to sit up and eat?” she asks, feeling like she’s forcing the words out one after the other. Gwaine seems to take pity on her, because she just nods and allows Merlin to lean over her. 

Even this, as it turns out, brings no reprieve for Merlin’s burning cheeks. She gingerly slides her hands around Gwaine’s waist, while Gwaine winds her arms around Merlin’s shoulders. Gwaine uses them to leverage herself upright, while Merlin grips her waist and lifts, assisting her. Merlin is extremely aware of how close they are, in this almost-hug. It puts Merlin’s face very close to Gwaine’s neck. It allows her to realise that Gwaine, even unbathed after a rough fight and injuries, somehow smells  _ good _ . Musky and in need of a bath, sure, but also earthy and sweet like a cultivated garden, the soil rich, the flowers fragrant. 

Merlin allows herself one deep inhale through her nose. 

With Gwaine’s back now settled against the wall, Merlin asks, “Is that alright?” 

“Yes,” Gwaine grunts. It’s obviously painful for her to move her leg, even these minor movements; Merlin’s heart immediately pangs in sympathy. She removes her hands from Gwaine’s waist, preparing to move away. Gwaine tightens her grip once on Merlin’s shoulders, before sliding her hands carefully down Merlin’s arms, and then onto the bed. 

Merlin barely represses a shiver. 

She doesn’t touch many people now that she’s living here in Camelot. When she does, it’s almost always accidental and inconsequential. But Gwaine’s palms against her felt full of purpose. Merlin feels shocked to be suddenly touched like that—her senses jolted in a way that has her brain firing off in pleasure, thinking,  _ oh, that was nice, do that again _ . 

Merlin clings to her senses of propriety. She shuffles backwards until she’s standing, hands clasped, to the side of the bed. 

“Can I get you any extra pillows?” she asks. “More blankets?” 

Gwaine’s eyes soften. “No, thank you, Merlin.” 

Merlin nods. She bends to pick up the tray of food and transfers it to Gwaine’s lap. “This is breakfast,” she tells her, stating the obvious. “I have to leave and perform my day’s duties, but I will return with lunch, and then also dinner. Gaius—the physician—will be up to check on you at some point, too. And if there’s anything else I can get you, please let me or another servant know. Arthur has said that you are to have anything you need.” 

A light sparks in Gwaine’s eyes. “Oh really? Anything I need?” 

Merlin nods. Gwaine grins. 

“Well, in that case,” Gwaine says, cheeky and self-assured, “I would like a bath brought here. A basin won’t do; I would like a full bath, with hot water, and soaps.” 

Gwaine looks very impressed with herself. Merlin imagines she is excited to impose in such a big way on the monarchy of Camelot—to haul a proper bath and water up to Merlin’s bedroom will be no easy task. Merlin cannot help but feel amused by Gwaine. In fact, she even feels a bit dismayed that she cannot grant her wish. 

“Well, your wound was not very wide, nor deep,” Merlin begins. Gwaine’s grin widens expectantly. “But Gaius would like err on the side of caution, so—no bathing until tomorrow evening, I’m afraid.” 

Gwaine’s smile disappears as she draws her lips together in a pout. It is so adorable that Merlin just blinks at her for a moment. 

“Fine,” Gwaine sighs, but Merlin can tell that she’s not really bothered, and is instead putting on an act. Indeed, the pout dissolves as quickly as it had appeared, replaced once more by what Merlin is coming to realise is Gwaine’s signature expression: a small smirk playing at her lips, an obvious twinkle of mischief in her eye, and a lilting note of freedom in her voice. “I guess I’ll have to amuse myself some other way this evening,” she says. 

Merlin feels her cheeks heat. She squashes this natural response, and instead folds her hands behind her back and tilts her nose up into the air, airy and nonchalant. “I can’t imagine what you mean.” 

As she turns and sweeps out of the room, Gwaine’s surprised bark of laughter follows her through the door and carries her through her day. 

* * *

Although she feels totally distracted by the fact that she has a beautiful woman lying in her bedroom, Merlin inevitably gets swept up in the tasks of her day. She cleans Arthur’s room, prepares his armour, and runs any errands that he needs done. It is a familiar routine that Merlin knows like the back of her hand, and it allows her to be easily preoccupied by her thoughts about Gwaine. 

Merlin knows that she’s not subtle about her preoccupation. When Gaius tells her that he’s been called away to the lower town to treat some grave illness and won’t be back until tomorrow, she can only nod. Merlin thinks Gaius rolls his eyes, but she doesn’t bother to check, because she needs to prepare Gwaine’s tray of lunch. 

When Merlin delivers Gwaine’s midday meal, she feels disappointed that she cannot stay for too long. Gwaine just waves her away, full of understanding, but Merlin wishes that she didn’t have so many tasks to attend to. 

After a long afternoon helping out in the training yards, Merlin is looking forward to being able to sit down and fill her belly with food. She forgoes her regular dinner routine, however, instead opting to fill a large tray with two servings of each dish on offer tonight, and carries it carefully up to her bedroom. 

“Good evening,” Merlin greets Gwaine after she manages to get the door open. And then— “Oh gods I’m going to drop this.” 

Gwaine takes one look at her before saying, “The table, Merlin, quickly—” 

In three steps Merlin is there, sliding the tray down with shaking arms. 

“Almost lost it,” Merlin comments. She sighs in relief as her arms are unburdened, shaking them out to ease the burn in her muscles. “My arm strength is nothing to joke about, what with everything I get up to these days, but it is a fair walk from the kitchens to here, and that is quite an amount of food.” She finishes her stretches and tilts her head, considering. “I bet it would have been no trouble for you, Gwaine, with your arms.” Merlin is not blind. Her memories of Gwaine’s fighting prowess during the tavern brawl are very vivid. 

She hears a strangled noise, and quickly whips her head around to look at Gwaine. 

“Are you alright?” Merlin asks, concerned. 

“Yes,” Gwaine says, a bit weakly. She must be tired, especially as her body heals her injuries. 

“It’ll be good to get some more food in you,” Merlin tells her. “You need to keep up your strength.” 

“Mm,” Gwaine agrees. “Is that all for me? It seems like a lot.” 

“Oh, no!” Merlin laughs. “I mean, if you want to eat it all, then yes, sure, you can have it all! But I brought enough for myself as well. I wasn’t able to join you for the other meals today, and with only Gaius visiting occasionally, today must have been pretty boring for you. I wanted to keep you company this evening.” 

As Merlin speaks, she watches Gwaine’s gaze soften. A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips, so very different from her trademark grin. 

“It’s alright, really,” Gwaine says gently. “I spent most of the day sleeping, anyway. But thank you, Merlin.” 

She sounds very touched. Merlin’s cheeks start to redden.  _ Stop it _ , she tells them sternly. 

“Right, well,” Merlin turns back around to the tray, “I’m not actually sure how I can divide this up evenly.” 

“Why don’t you move the tray to the bed?” Gwaine asks. “That way, we can share easily.” 

Merlin frowns at the small bed. “Are you sure it will fit?” 

“Yes,” Gwaine says immediately. Merlin narrows her eyes at her. Gwaine’s grin just widens. “Well, you have to at least try, Merlin!” 

Gwaine is correct, of course. The tray does fit on the bed, slanted sideways along Gwaine’s legs, which are still stretched out in a seated position. Merlin climbs onto the end of the bed and crosses her legs, and like that, everything fits together. 

“Oh, this looks good,” Gwaine admires the spread in front of them, and Merlin has to agree. The tray holds warm, fresh bread, some meat, and two bowls of soup. 

“The cooks are very good here,” Merlin tells her, reaching for a slice of bread. “And Camelot is not poor.” 

“Clearly,” Gwaine observes. “Could you please pass me a bowl of soup?” 

“Of course,” Merlin jumps to grab it, rising up on her knees to pass it over. “Would you like some bread in there?” 

“Please,” Gwaine says, and Merlin dunks a slice in the bowl. “Perfect.” 

They lapse into a comfortable silence for a few minutes as they eat. Merlin quickly realises that it will be easier for Gwaine to eat the meat if it’s already in her bowl—she won’t have to move to try and pick more things up from the tray—so Merlin chops some up into small pieces and places them delicately into Gwaine’s soup. 

“Thank you,” Gwaine says, using that same gentle voice again, and this time it sends a warm thrill up Merlin’s sides. 

“Anytime,” she says easily, returning to her cross-legged position. 

“Careful,” Gwaine says, “I might take you up on that.” 

Before Merlin can even begin to think of how to respond to  _ that _ , Gwaine is speaking again. “Gods, this is really good. I haven’t had food this good in quite awhile.” 

“Have you been in Camelot for long?” Merlin asks, spearing a piece of meat with her fork and popping it into her mouth. 

“No, I haven’t. I only crossed the border about a week ago.” 

“And where were you before that?” 

“I spent a fair bit of time gallivanting around Nemeth. And before that, Caerleon. And before that, Essetir…” Gwaine trails off in favour of lifting a large spoonful of soup into her mouth, casual and unconcerned. 

“Really?” Merlin asks, shocked and impressed. “So you travel a lot, then? Why?” 

Gwaine shrugs. “Why not? This is my life. This is what I do.” 

Merlin is still trying to wrap her head around it. Gwaine—a woman, certainly around Merlin’s age or only a few years older—travelling everywhere? Always? “What do you do in your travels?” 

A wicked grin flashes across Gwaine’s face. Merlin’s spine jerks at the sight—it looks confident and  _ thrilling _ . “Well, most of the time I’m finding myself caught up in some fight or other. Not unlike how we met.” 

Merlin raises her eyebrows. “Oh, you just happen to find yourself in fights, do you? Never initiating them on your own?” 

When Gwaine laughs, it’s loud and full and free. “Exactly.” 

Merlin ducks her head and smiles, quietly elated at having made Gwaine laugh again. “But why?” she asks. “Why are you always fighting people? And how do you even know how to fight? You are very good.” 

“Thank you,” Gwaine says, looking pleased. “I was taught by a knight.” 

Merlin blinks. “You… what?” 

“Or, well, the full story is that I actually tricked a knight into teaching me,” Gwaine amends. She lifts her bread up and takes a bite out of the soup-soaked end. 

Merlin’s mind stumbles into even further confusion. “How?” 

Gwaine takes a moment to chew and swallow before answering. “It was just my mother and I at home. We lived in a larger town, and we were quite poor. I was always trying to help my mother out by finding ways to make some extra money. I did odd jobs all over the place, but what I truly wanted, most of all, was to learn how to fight.” 

The story sounds achingly familiar to Merlin. Well, except for the fighting part. “I am the same,” she reveals softly. “It was always just me and my mum. We were in quite a small village, too.” 

“Then you understand,” Gwaine says, voice low but full of conviction. 

Merlin nods. The air between them has grown hushed and confidential. “You wanted to be able to defend your mother, and yourself.” 

“My body ached with how much I wanted to fight,” Gwaine says. She stirs her spoon in circles in her bowl. “And I don’t mean just random street fighting, I wanted to gain actual skills. I had all the energy, but no way to learn from someone more skilled than your average tavern thug.” 

Merlin huffs, thinking of their own encounter at a tavern, only a day ago. “So you tricked a knight?” 

“I did,” Gwaine says, smug. “Because our town was bigger, we had a small group of knights stationed with us, to help keep the peace. They all had pageboys, so, I shaved my head, walked up to the most experienced knight—I had watched them fight a lot, I could already tell who was better and who was worse—and I told him I would be the best pageboy he had ever had.” 

It sounds insane. It sounds exactly like something Gwaine would do. Somehow Merlin knows this, right in her bones, even though she’s only known Gwaine for a day. 

“How old were you?” 

“Twelve,” Gwaine smiles ruefully. “I was a small, skinny thing. We had never had a lot to eat. But in this case, that was actually helpful. It meant that I didn’t start growing into my womanly shape until I was around fifteen, and by then, it was too late.” 

Merlin picks up her bowl of soup, warming her hands around it, and frowns. “Too late?” 

“I was too good,” Gwaine says bluntly. “My job was a pageboy, yes, but it only took a month of hard work and polite requests before the knight—his name was Morholt—finally agreed to give me a lesson in swordfighting. He, of course, thought that he was humouring me, and that after one lesson I would see how difficult it was and decide that that was enough. I proved him very wrong. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” she continues, “I didn’t begin my training knowing how to fight. I was actually pretty rubbish.” At that, Merlin snorts out a laugh, nearly choking on a mouthful of soup. “But he could see how eager I was. And, perhaps more importantly, he could see how smart I was. He only ever had to teach me a manoeuvre once. We’d have to practice it over and over, yes, but I picked things up very quickly, so it was more a matter of building my strength so that we could work on my technique.” 

“Gwaine,” Merlin says, trailing off in awe. Her eyes never left Gwaine’s face. Merlin had never, ever even  _ heard _ of a woman being able to do something like what Gwaine had done. Women who practiced sword fighting were rare, and their minimal skills were usually reserved for ceremonial court practices only. But Gwaine was, for all intents and purposes, a knight. She hadn’t been given a title—who knew if she could ever actually receive one— but she had trained with a knight, learned how to fight with a sword and shield, and she had become incredibly good at it. 

“By the time I was fifteen, I was better than almost all of the knights stationed in my town,” Gwaine tells her. “I had bested them in fights, and I could barely be called a pageboy anymore, because I regularly accompanied the knights on their rounds through the streets. I broke up altercations, settled arguments, smiled at innkeepers and became the favourite of all the elderly residents. 

“But because of that, I was also being paid a lot more,” she explains. “I mean, not much more, and it wasn’t a lot to begin with, but soon enough we had enough money to buy more meat, and once I started eating more meat, and not just bread and beans, well…” Gwaine makes a curving motion with her hands around her chest, imitating the swell of breasts. Merlin coughs out a startled laugh. It should be vulgar, but Merlin just feels charmed by Gwaine’s candour. “Yeah, you know what happens once you reach a certain age. My body shape changed. My hips, my chest, even my legs grew more shapely. The new muscle I had on my bones hid it, for a while, but I knew that sooner or later people would notice. I decided to beat them to it.” 

“You told someone?” 

“I told Morholt,” Gwaine says. 

Merlin’s attention is totally captured by Gwaine’s tale; her dinner is barely an afterthought. “How did he react?” 

“Poorly, at first. But he was the smart one, and he quickly realised that what was done couldn’t be reversed, and accepted me pretty quickly.” Gwaine shrugs. “I wasn’t too fazed. By that point, I knew a whole lot about sword fighting, and I was already planning to leave.” 

“Leave?” Merlin repeats. “You didn’t want to stay in town? If that knight had accepted you, others probably could have too. You could have stayed and become a knight in title as well as in skill.” 

“Absolutely not,” Gwaine says, shaking her head. “The plan was always to leave, travel and use my skills to earn money I could send back to my mother. And I had had more than enough of working for nobles, thank you very much.” 

“Ah yes, of course,” Merlin smiles, the intensity of their conversation easing slightly. “I forgot. You dislike nobles quite a bit.” 

“That I do,” Gwaine confirms, going in for another spoonful of soup. 

“Why is that?” Merlin asks, twirling her spoon. She’s been curious ever since Gwaine had first laughed in the face of a personal invitation from the King. 

“They are pompous, self-absorbed cowards with no empathy for others,” Gwaine says, a note of force in her voice. She pauses. Merlin watches her consider something, eyes flicking between Merlin and the soup, before continuing. “My father was a noble.”

“Ah,” says Merlin. 

“He tricked my mother into sleeping with him.” Gwaine says it flatly, an unavoidable truth. “Merlin, he promised her the world. He was only visiting our town for half a year, but he pretended as though he was going to take her with him when he left. He acted kind and loving and told my mother he would marry her, and it was all a lie to get beneath her skirts. As soon as she told him she was pregnant, he found a way to leave and never came back.” 

“Gwaine,” Merlin says, quiet and full of sympathy. 

“Since then, I haven’t met a single nobleman who wasn’t a complete let-down,” Gwaine continues. “I’ve even met princes and kings, men who should be strong and honourable, but they’re all just disappointingly simple. Power-hungry and gorging themselves on their money, with no genuine concern for the people living under their rule.” 

Merlin feels a bit taken aback by such a vehement perspective, and her soup is entirely forgotten as she blinks across the bed at Gwaine. Living in a castle means that she rarely comes across a negative opinion of the nobility—at least not openly. But she’s not totally naive. She knows that a kingdom’s leaders are rarely able to live up to their proposed notions of being fantastic and humble leaders. And yet, a voice inside her head still insists,  _ Arthur isn’t like that. Arthur is different _ . 

“I think I understand that,” Merlin says slowly. “I really do. But I think—truly, Gwaine, I really do believe—that Arthur is different.” 

Gwaine doesn’t dismiss her outright. She doesn’t roll her eyes and mutter, condescendingly, about how Merlin is a servant girl who doesn’t know better. She simply nods, deep in thought. 

“I’m not inclined to think that way, Merlin,” Gwaine says. “But I do believe you.” 

Merlin tingles at hearing those words.  _ I do believe you _ . As though Gwaine believes it because Merlin is the one saying it. Like she trusts Merlin. 

“And I was impressed with him, back in the tavern,” Gwaine goes on. “There are very few men who see me walk into a fight and still call me  _ m’lady _ . But Arthur seemed to barely bat an eyelid.” 

Merlin smiles. She’s happy that Gwaine seems impressed with Arthur—Merlin was too. “Yeah, he’s actually pretty good with this sort of stuff,” she says. “By which I mean, he’s not very judgemental of others. He doesn’t discriminate against those who go against convention, like, men who work in women’s roles or vice versa, or, um, men and women who lay with others of the same sex—” Merlin shifts nervously on the bed, eyes darting around the room, “—or, in your case, women who like to fight in traditionally male roles. For example.” 

“For example,” Gwaine muses. 

Merlin can  _ feel _ her gaze, hot and heavy and aimed straight at Merlin, who studies her own bedspread instead of raising her eyes. “Yeah.” 

“But he’s not the one in charge now, is he?” Gwaine asks, after a few moments. “It’s his father. Uther.” 

She says his name like it’s a dead, rotted word tumbling out of her mouth. That sentiment, at least, Merlin is a bit more familiar with. 

“Not a fan?” she asks wryly. 

“If Arthur is accepting of those who are different, or go against convention, then I’m not sure how he can be Uther’s son.” Gwaine shakes her head, looking disgusted. “Uther Pendragon is a terrible man, Merlin. He murdered every magical being he could find in this kingdom. He slaughtered innocent men, women, children and others whose only crime was being themselves.” 

The meat and bread and soup sitting in Merlin’s stomach suddenly feels very, very heavy. “The Purge,” is all she can say. 

“The worst thing to ever happen in this kingdom,” Gwaine says firmly. “The Druids, Seers, Priestesses, the Dragonlords—Merlin, the vast majority of magic users were peaceful, helpful folk!” 

Merlin knows, logically, that there’s no way Gwaine could ever expect Merlin to be a Dragonlord. She is firm in her knowledge that almost no one is aware that, though extremely rare, Dragonlords can pass on their abilities to daughters as well as sons. But she still feels sick to her stomach, nervous and confused, in agreement with Gwaine’s words and terrified all at once. 

“It’s a terrible, unforgivable crime, what Uther did to those sorcerers,” Gwaine continues, unaware of Merlin’s inner anguish. “He punished thousands for the actions of a small few. He took all that kingly power and abused it to commit mass murder, Merlin, and it makes me sick to know that he is still sitting on his throne.” Gwaine shakes her head in disgust as she tears a slice of bread into small, bite-sized pieces. “Who is next, Merlin? There are common men out there who have committed far more terrible crimes than some magic-wielders did. Where is their punishment?” 

Merlin can’t breathe. 

Whatever she expected out of spending an evening eating dinner with Gwaine—it had absolutely not been  _ this _ . 

She has been cooped up in this castle for so long. She has repressed her own thoughts for so,  _ so _ long. Merlin has barely allowed herself to think about the rocky realities of being a sorceress in Camelot. By devoting all her energy to remaining hidden, she hasn’t let herself think about anything else. Anything like this. 

Hearing Gwaine’s words shock through her brain is like a bucket of cold water being poured over her head. It reminds her of her magical brethren, whose existence Merlin can forget about so easily in this castle. It reminds her that there was a time where she  _ wouldn’t _ have had to hide such an important part of herself for fear of persecution and death. 

Merlin clears her throat once, twice. “You could be imprisoned if someone heard you speaking like that here,” she eventually says, voice hoarse. 

Gwaine just watches her. 

“Aye,” she agrees lowly. “But you know I’m right.” 

Merlin cannot break her gaze away from Gwaine’s dark, intense eyes. Gwaine’s lips are pressed together in a line. Her dark hair falls messily around her shoulders, unbrushed. Confronted by her words and her appearance, Merlin feels thoroughly devastated. 

Quietly and quickly, a corner of her brain digests Gwaine’s impassioned statements, and agrees. She cannot bring herself to voice it aloud—that is too much for her, right now—but her eyes eventually break away from Gwaine’s, dipping down onto the bed, and she thinks that is agreement enough. 

Silence permeates throughout Merlin’s room, but it is not awkward. It is… calm. Homely. Merlin doesn’t want to think about what it means for Gwaine to be so permanently and obviously intruding in Merlin’s space without removing any of that feeling of home. 

Eventually, Merlin’s eyes register what she’s actually looking at, and she realises that most of the food is gone. A glance up at Gwaine’s bowl confirms not only that she’s eaten enough, but that the conversation has tired her: she is listing slightly downwards, slumping further and further against the wall. 

Merlin places her own bowl on the tray, before reaching over to Gwaine’s and doing the same. “Come on,” she says, her voice still low and a bit croaky. “Time for you to sleep.” 

“Mm,” Gwaine agrees, her eyes closing briefly. 

Merlin gathers the tray in her arms, significantly lighter now that they’ve eaten almost all the food, and gets to her feet to place the tray on the nearby table. When she turns back around, she freezes, realising something quite obvious. 

“Ah,” she says out loud. 

There is only one bed in Merlin’s bedroom, and it is not large by any standards. 

Merlin’s not sure what her brain has been thinking. It hadn’t occurred to her that having an injured Gwaine staying in her bed would also mean that Merlin wouldn’t be able to sleep in her own bed. She feels her ears begin to heat up, a little flustered with herself. How silly. 

“Uh,” Merlin says again, “let me get you settled, and then I’ll take the floor tonight.” 

“Hey?” Gwaine asks, eyes opening. “Merlin, I don’t want to kick you out of your own bed.” 

Merlin gives her a look. “I think it’s pretty clear to both of us that you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.” 

Gwaine cannot deny that, but she remains unfazed. “I’m not letting you take the floor in your own room. There is enough space on the bed. Join me.” 

Merlin gapes at her. “Gwaine! Have you seen my bed? We just struggled to fit our own dinner on it!” 

“Well, now it’s gone so we have more space,” Gwaine says, as though this is the most reasonable statement in the world. Merlin rolls her eyes upwards, exasperated. 

“Gwaine,” she starts. “There’s no room. We won’t fit.” 

“We will.” 

“And even if we did,” Merlin pushes on, “I wouldn’t, because I’m too scared to jostle your leg.” 

“Rubbish, you don’t need to worry.” Gwaine gestures down to her injured left leg. “You can lie to my right, away from my injury, so that there’s no chance of you hurting me.” 

Merlin sighs. She doesn’t know what to do. “You have an answer to everything, don’t you?” she asks. 

Gwaine can clearly smell victory in the air, because she sends Merlin a wide grin. 

Merlin lets her shoulders slump. “Fine,” she relents, “but if I hurt you, even in the middle of the night, you need to wake me up and tell me.” 

“Of course,” Gwaine says smoothly. 

Merlin narrows her eyes. “I mean it, Gwaine.” 

“I know you do, and I will tell you, love, don’t fret,” Gwaine tells her, soothing and full of promise. 

Merlin immediately twirls away. Her eyes blink quickly; her heartbeat echoes faintly in her ears.  _ Love? _ Oh, it is far too late in a far too busy day for Merlin to know how to deal with Gwaine calling her  _ love _ . She disguises her sudden movement as her search for her sleeping clothes. With her back still facing Gwaine, Merlin squeezes her own eyes shut—as though that will somehow remove her own embarrassment of Gwaine seeing her—and removes her shirt. She changes clothing efficiently, not stopping to think about the fact that she is taking her clothes off in the same room as Gwaine. 

When she finally finishes folding her day’s clothes away—she needs to wash tomorrow, she thinks idly—Merlin turns back around towards the bed. 

Gwaine hasn’t moved, but her hands are covering her eyes, and she looks content to just sit there. Merlin watches her for several seconds. 

“Merlin?” Gwaine calls. “You’ve stopped moving. Can I open my eyes now? Are you decent?” 

A humid warmth clouds Merlin’s face. Shocked and overwhelmed, she ducks her head down and furiously blinks away the sudden rush of tears. Is this really it? All of Gwaine’s teasing and flirting, but what makes Merlin hit her breaking point—what makes her feel cared about and touched and considered—is Gwaine’s considerate covering of her own eyes to preserve Merlin’s modesty? 

It takes Merlin several more seconds to get herself under control, by which point, she feels concern beginning to radiate from Gwaine. 

“Merlin?” she asks again. 

“Yeah, yes, I’m, you can look again,” Merlin stutters. 

Slowly, Gwaine lowers her hands. Her eyes meet Merlin’s immediately. 

It’s not like Merlin hasn’t actively participated in this budding flirtation between them. But somehow Gwaine knew, could understand, that Merlin didn’t want to be seen just now. That it would have been too much, after that conversation. No matter what sort of flirtation they may have embarked on, Gwaine still respected that this was Merlin’s bedroom, and Merlin hadn’t given Gwaine permission to see her unclothed. 

“Thank you,” Merlin suddenly blurts out, bowled over by a rush of gratitude. 

Gwaine’s brows furrow slightly. “For what?” 

“For…” Merlin gestures randomly towards her. “You know. Not looking.” 

Gwaine’s head tilts slightly. “Of course, Merlin.” 

Merlin offers her a small smile, and it is returned. 

It doesn’t take long to prepare for bed. With her sleeping clothes on, Merlin now tends to Gwaine. She doesn’t need much help to slide back down into a sleeping position, but Merlin does rearrange the blankets, and helps her to shuffle a bit closer to the side edge of the bed to make room for Merlin herself. 

“Merlin,” Gwaine begins. 

“Hm?” 

“Could you, ah, would you mind pulling my shirt down?” 

Merlin frowns and pulls back the covers slightly. Sure enough, Gwaine’s shirt has rolled upwards as she slid down the bed, revealing a toned stomach. Merlin gulps. 

“Of course,” she says. 

She tries very hard to touch only the shirt. She almost succeeds, too, but the centre of the shirt is stuck under Gwaine’s back. The only way to tug it all the way down is for Merlin to slide her hands underneath. 

“Sorry,” she murmurs, before quickly doing so. 

It only takes three seconds. The skin of Gwaine’s back is soft and very warm. Merlin can barely believe that she is touching Gwaine in this way. 

And then it’s over, and Gwaine’s shirt is securely tugged down to cover her stomach, and that’s that. 

“Thanks,” Gwaine breathes. Merlin nods, mute with some unidentifiable emotion. 

She walks back around to the other side of the bed. There’s nothing else she can do except blow out the candle, plunging her room into darkness, and lifting the bedcovers. 

When Merlin slides into the bed, she tries to take up as little space as possible. She is a stiff, straight body hanging onto the edge of her bed. She’s managed to not touch Gwaine, but it means she is going to fall off in any second. 

“Merlin,” Gwaine says. Her voice sounds different in the dark. 

“Yeah?” Merlin asks. 

“Move closer,” Gwaine tells her. 

“Then I’ll be touching you.” 

“Is that not okay?” 

Merlin feels stumped. “I—yes, it’s fine with me, but I don’t want to—to trouble you.” 

Gwaine snorts, which conveys everything she thinks about  _ that _ . “Move closer, Merlin.” 

So Merlin does. She moves close enough so that she can lie firmly on her side, with no danger of falling backwards. She’s facing Gwaine, who is still lying on her back. Merlin’s forehead is touching Gwaine’s shoulder. Her knees, slightly bent, rest against Gwaine’s good leg. 

Her very bare leg, since Gaius and Merlin had removed her trousers to allow them to easily tend to and bandage her thigh wound. 

Merlin barely suppresses a strangled noise in the back of her throat. 

“Better?” Gwaine asks, oblivious to Merlin’s mental overload. 

“Yes,” Merlin manages to say. It is better: Merlin knows she’s not going to fall off the bed in the middle of the night, now. Even though the prospect of tumbling to the ground will probably hurt her less than the knowledge that she’s sharing a bed with Gwaine and her naked legs. 

Merlin can feel how pleased Gwaine is, the emotion emanating out of her, and sighs. 

“Good night, Gwaine,” she says. 

“Good night, Merlin,” Gwaine replies. 

Merlin falls asleep pondering how lovely her name sounds when it comes out of Gwaine’s lips. 

* * *

When Merlin awakens, she quickly realises that she feels much, much warmer than usual. 

She’s not sure if it’s just her part of the castle or just her room specifically, but she is always cold in her quarters. Always. No matter how many blankets she steals and piles onto her bed in the evening, she inevitably wakes with a little shiver in the morning, and has to warm herself up by rushing around and getting ready for the day. 

Not this morning, however. 

This morning, Merlin blearily blinks her eyes open and is met with the sight of a clothed, curved breast. 

She blinks again. Hmm. 

Immediately, she realises that she feels so warm because she is being embraced. 

Her head lies on Gwaine’s shoulder. Merlin’s own shoulder is sort of squashing Gwaine’s right breast, but her left is unharmed and completely filling Merlin’s line of vision. Merlin’s body is pressed up against Gwaine’s from head to toe. Gwaine’s long, warm arm curves around Merlin’s back, holding her in place. 

Merlin is  _ warm _ as she shares in Gwaine’s body heat. 

The sigh she lets out is full to the brim with contentment. 

Usually, when Merlin wakes up, she’s running late. She enjoys her sleep, and likes to get as much of it as possible, which is an attitude that always ends in her spending her mornings trying to brush her teeth and pull her shoes on and pack a small bag all at once. 

Today, Merlin languishes in her bed as usual, but for an entirely different reason. She would do anything to spend even a few more minutes lying here, safe and secure in Gwaine’s arms. 

Eventually, Merlin must rise. Gwaine has made no sign of her being awake; Merlin thinks that’s for the best. She needs all the rest she can get. As Merlin sits up on the bed, she is very careful to not jostle Gwaine too much. She’s about to roll away and start to get dressed and ready, when a glance at Gwaine’s face makes Merlin pause. 

She is so  _ beautiful _ . 

Even like this, with her face slack with sleep, Gwaine is lovely. She looks peaceful. Her skin is smooth—far too smooth considering all the rough situations she gets into as an almost-knight. She has a beautiful sharp nose, and her dark hair fans out around her on the pillow. Merlin longs to kiss her full, red lips. 

Merlin jerks back in shock. She what? 

It takes her approximately one minute to scramble out of her room. She changes into yesterday’s clothes, picks up their empty dinner tray and flees. 

* * *

Merlin walks through her daily duties feeling utterly dazed. 

How could she not? She has a beautiful woman lying, injured and flirtatious, in her bed. Yes—after spending all of her morning tasks mentally reviewing every conversation she’d had with Gwaine yesterday, Merlin has fully accepted that Gwaine really is flirting with her; she’s not making it up in her head. And what’s more, Merlin has also come to terms with the fact that she really, truly would like to  _ flirt back _ . 

It has been awhile since Merlin has been flirted with; it’s been much, much longer since she ever had the desire to return such affections. And yet here she is, standing outside her own bedroom door, the dinner tray in her hands trembling slightly with anticipation as Merlin tries to wrangle with the reality of her own desire. 

Gwaine is someone that Merlin wants to  _ kiss _ . 

The thought almost makes her dizzy. 

Yesterday evening, she hadn’t hesitated to enter; tonight she feels restless and nervous, like opening that door will open up something else for her entirely. 

“Oh for goodness’ sake, Merlin, just go in,” she scolds herself eventually, sick of the dithering. 

The door creaks open as Merlin enters. “Good evening,” she says, putting some extra brightness into her voice. She shuts the door and turns around, finally looking at Gwaine fully. 

Gwaine, who has her shirt shrugged almost all the way off her shoulders, split wide open down the middle to reveal the thin under-singlet she wears beneath. 

Merlin nearly drops the entire tray on the floor. 

“What!” Merlin squeaks, high-pitched and breathless and so, so far from the confident flirtation she had wanted to begin with. It feels like all the blood in her body rushes immediately to her face. She can hear her own heartbeat echoing through her skull. “What are you doing!” 

Gwaine pulls the shirt down her arms and off, wincing as she shuffles from side to side where she sits on the bed. “Getting undressed?” she says, questioning. She raises her eyebrow at Merlin, and it only serves to make Merlin’s face feel even hotter. “What, do you expect me to bathe in my clothes?” 

“Bathe?” Merlin asks, her voice still high and reedy. Gwaine nods towards the side of the room; Merlin follows her gaze and sees a steaming hot bath sitting there. Merlin had, of course, been all too happy to fulfil Gwaine’s request. She had arranged for several servants to lug a bathtub to her bedroom, but she hadn’t expected it to be here so quickly. She’d thought Gwaine would be able to eat her dinner first, and then Merlin could politely vacate the room to allow Gwaine to bathe. 

“Yes, Merlin, I am going to bathe,” Gwaine is saying. “I didn’t ask for a huge bath to be brought here just to be annoying, you know.” At that, Gwaine tilts her head, considering. “Well, to be fair, a solid half of my motivation was to just be as demanding of the nobility as I could. But I haven’t washed in  _ days _ , I feel disgusting.” 

“Right,” Merlin says faintly. “Of course. Yeah.” 

She thinks mournfully of how nervously eager she was before she stepped into the room. Now, her mind is completely blank, save for the internal voice that frantically screams about how much she _ is not prepared for this!  _

And then—and  _ then _ —everything gets a thousand times worse when Gwaine throws the blankets off of her and Merlin suddenly remembers  _ again _ that she and Gaius had removed Gwaine’s trousers. 

Gwaine is sitting on Merlin’s bed. Her hair is tousled from spending two days in bed, but it still looks as soft as the first time Merlin saw it. Her face looks eagerly excited, a beautiful expression on her face. She is wearing only an under-singlet and her underwear. 

_ Merlin cannot breathe.  _

“…Merlin?” Gwaine’s voice eventually penetrates the rush of white noise clouding Merlin’s head. “Merlin, are you alright?” 

Merlin realises that she hasn’t said anything in a solid ten seconds. As if she wasn’t already embarrassed enough! 

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes.” Merlin wonders how many times her squeaky, shaky voice is going to nervously repeat that word. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes!” There it is again. 

Gwaine is looking at Merlin knowingly. Merlin seriously doesn’t want to know what that’s all about. 

“Right, let’s get you in that bath,” Merlin says, steeling her mind and her voice. 

“Merlin, I…” Gwaine suddenly sounds a bit unsure. “I can’t remove my underwear on my own.” 

“Of course,” Merlin says smoothly, and viciously wishes for death. 

The first blow comes in the form of Gwaine pulling her under-singlet up over her head, as Merlin approaches the bed. It takes Merlin by surprise. She allows herself a glimpse of Gwaine’s breasts—fuller than Merlin had thought them to be, the men’s overclothes must hide their size—before she averts her eyes. 

The second blow comes when Gwaine wraps her arms tightly around Merlin’s neck. She encourages Merlin’s hands to hold firm around her waist, and together they pull and lift Gwaine onto her feet. The side of her face is pressed firmly against Merlin’s cheek, her messy hair fluttering into Merlin’s face. A few strands are caught between Merlin’s lips. She doesn’t mind in the slightest. 

The third blow—the most devastating—comes when Gwaine asks Merlin to take her underwear off. 

“Fuck,” Gwaine breathes heavily. This is not a painless operation: any weight that Gwaine places on her injured leg will hurt quite badly. 

They are, essentially, standing and embracing fully. Gwaine’s naked front is pressed against Merlin’s clothed one. Gwaine is slightly taller than Merlin, but she’s slouching against her, so that Merlin’s chin can easily hook over Gwaine’s shoulder. 

Merlin has not touched another person so closely since she left her home. To experience this now, with Gwaine of all people, is incredibly overwhelming. 

“Merlin, I’ll balance myself here—” Gwaine tightens her grip around Merlin’s neck, “—and if you could please, ah, push them down—”

It seems that not even confident Gwaine is immune to embarrassment. It makes Merlin feel a bit better, that she’s not the only one feeling a bit…  _ heated _ about their current predicament. 

“Of course,” Merlin murmurs. She loosens her grip on Gwaine’s skin in favour of sliding her fingers down to the waist of Gwaine’s underwear. 

It only takes a tug and a push for them to fall on the floor. 

“Ta,” Gwaine says. She holds tightly to Merlin—Merlin returns her hands now to Gwaine’s hips—and slowly lifts one foot, then the other, until her ankles are free of the clothing. 

“Right,” Gwaine huffs directly into Merlin’s ear. “Let’s do this.” 

Luckily, it only takes four steps to reach the bath. Merlin’s room is not very large, and now she is grateful for that fact. Lifting Gwaine into the bath takes more than several moments of concentration—Gwaine wincing the whole way—but eventually she has both hands braced on the edges of the tub and is lowering herself into the water. 

Merlin tries and fails to avoid admiring the delicious, visible clench of Gwaine’s arm muscles. 

“Ahh,” Gwaine exhales, now fully seated in the bath. It is half a sigh and half a moan and completely suggestive. Merlin’s eyes widen. 

Soap has been added to the bath, so the water is not crystal clear. Merlin could, if she looked down, still see the outlines of Gwaine’s body. She pointedly keeps her eyes trained on Gwaine’s own. Even a glimpse of a shoulder seems too titillating. 

“Bloody hell, Merlin, this is the best bath I’ve had in months,” Gwaine curses. 

“Mm,” Merlin says, because that is really all she’s capable of saying right now. 

The bath  _ does _ look very good. It smells wonderful—there’s a small collection of soaps and oils sitting nearby—and the water looks hot, as opposed to disappointingly lukewarm, which is usually how Merlin’s own baths feel. 

Unfortunately, she doesn’t realise that she’s been standing there, staring at the water longingly, until Gwaine calls her out on it. 

“Would you like to join me?” Gwaine asks. 

Merlin yelps, nearly jumps out of her skin. “What? No!” 

“Liar,” Gwaine retorts. “I see your staring.” 

“I’m—I’m not,” Merlin stutters, flustered. This evening is really not going as she thought it would! 

“I don’t blame you. This is an incredibly nice bath. I imagine that hard-working servants of Camelot castle aren’t usually granted luxurious private baths like this.” Now that she’s settled and warmed by the bath, Gwaine’s confidence has returned in spades. She luxuriates back into the tub, closing her eyes in bliss before flicking them back to Merlin’s. “Which is a damn shame. Merlin should be allowed to have the hottest, cleanest baths whenever she’d like.” 

_ Why? _ Merlin desperately wants to ask. Instead, she just says, “Are you going to make a law of it?” 

“Yes!” Gwaine exclaims, smirking. “Fabulous idea. I will write it into law.  _ Merlin is allowed to have the highest quality baths whenever she desires _ .” 

Merlin can’t stop herself from giggling. She is totally charmed. Gwaine’s smile is full of pride. 

“Come on,” she goads gently, watching Merlin. “If you really don’t want to, then of course, that’s fine. But this bath is beautiful and hot and can fit the both of us.” 

Merlin feels herself teetering on the edge of acceptance. The bath  _ does _ look amazing. And it  _ has _ been a couple of days since Merlin was able to bathe herself. She could go down to the castle baths, but… why bother if Gwaine was here, offering to share her own? 

“Besides,” Gwaine grins cheekily at Merlin, fluttering her eyelashes. “I need someone to wash my hair.” 

This is what ultimately tips Merlin’s decision. Gwaine’s teasing reminds her of the unshakeable facts she knows about Gwaine, even though she’s only known Gwaine for two days. Gwaine is funny. She is flirty. She is kind and open and thoughtful and she listens. 

It is all this and more that makes Gwaine a person— _ the _ person—that Merlin would like to get naked in a bath with. 

“Okay,” she says. 

Gwaine’s face lights up. It makes Merlin smile. 

It’s silly, she knows, but she still turns away to undress. It’s an instinctive action. Merlin doesn’t feel as nervous as she had the previous night. She’s already done this once before; and now Gwaine is naked and bare, too. When Merlin’s clothes are all folded neatly on her bed, she faces the bath once more. 

Gwaine has covered her eyes again. 

A rush of sudden warmth flows through Merlin, sweet and strong. 

She wordlessly walks to the bath, lifting one leg into the water at a time, until she can sink down and have her body enveloped by the water. 

“Oh my,” Merlin murmurs. Her eyes close, an involuntary reaction of pleasure as she acclimates to the hot temperature. 

Gwaine chuckles. When Merlin’s eyelids flutter open once more, she sees that Gwaine’s hands have left her face and returned to the water. 

The bath is not incredibly large. Both Gwaine’s legs are stretched out straight, the most comfortable position for her. Merlin sits between her surprisingly slim ankles. 

They are sitting very close together, with a lot of water and bare skin between them. 

“Hi,” Merlin says, suddenly shy. 

“Hi,” Gwaine replies, voice smooth and sweet, accompanied by her smaller smile. Merlin loves that smile. She loves all of them, but that one might be her favourite. 

For awhile, they just sit. Gwaine seems content to just luxuriate in the water, her head tipped back against the rim of the tub. Merlin cannot lie down as much as Gwaine has, but she doesn’t mind at all. The tub is filled high and it is quite deep, so only Merlin’s head and the tops of her shoulders are not submerged. She has been holding her knees up and together, feet planted flat on the base, but now she shifts them into a crossed position, her knees coming to rest on Gwaine’s shins. A noise of approval emanates from Gwaine’s throat. 

Merlin finds herself relaxing more by the second. A hot bath works wonders for stresses of the body and the mind. She allows herself to forget her worries and confusions and embarrassment, and instead tries to embrace the flustered, overwhelming feelings that Gwaine elicits within her. They are new and scary, certainly, but Merlin is not afraid of them. 

“Merlin,” Gwaine asks after awhile. Her voice is low and lethargic with relaxation, and it sends a sudden shiver down Merlin’s spine. “Could I wash your hair?” 

Merlin winks one eye open. “I thought I was washing your hair?” 

“Mm, boring,” Gwaine mumbles. “Would much rather wash yours instead.” 

It’s impossible to not smile and blush when a beautiful woman tells you she wants to wash your hair. 

“Later, maybe,” Merlin allows. “Let me do yours first.” 

Gwaine grumbles but doesn’t protest. They awkwardly manoeuvre themselves in the tub—a process which requires Merlin to stand up and step around Gwaine, which puts her nether regions quite close to Gwaine’s face, a fact which she brutally brushes past in her mind—until Merlin is sitting with her back against the tub, legs splayed wide to accommodate Gwaine between them. Gwaine’s back is against Merlin’s chest, her legs still able to be stretched outwards in this position. 

Merlin has a jar of hair wash in her hand. The castle has really splurged on Gwaine, not only providing a hot bath but the best quality products, too. In her other hand she holds a cup. 

“Close your eyes,” Merlin tells Gwaine. 

She assumes that Gwaine does so, as she drags the cup through the water, collecting it, before lifting it to Gwaine’s head. After a few more cupfuls Gwaine’s hair is completely wet. 

“Mmm,” Gwaine murmurs approvingly. 

Merlin places the cup outside the bath and uncaps the jar of hair wash. She gets some on her palm, enough for all of Gwaine’s hair, before returning that jar to the ground, too. Her palms rub together, spreading and activating the soap, before she then slides her fingers through Gwaine’s hair. 

The fine strands of Gwaine’s hair had already been tangled before they became wet, so Merlin is careful as she begins to rub her fingers against Gwaine’s scalp. It’s important to ensure the soap starts to lather, but Merlin reminds herself that she’ll need to comb Gwaine’s hair out after, lest it turn into a bird’s nest of knots when it dries. 

Merlin has washed her own hair hundreds of times, but rarely has she washed someone else’s. The angle is entirely unfamiliar. Instead of lifting her elbows into the air and scrubbing at the back of her own head, her arms are given a slight reprieve as she works on the hair in front of her eyes. It doesn’t take her long to get used to it, and then she quickly finds herself lulled into further relaxation by the repetitive motions. She is careful to be very gentle. Merlin ensures that only the pads of her fingers brush against Gwaine’s scalp, and never her fingernails. Not that there’s a high chance of that happening—Merlin’s fingernails are quite short, filed down by the labours she performs each day. She has noticed that Gwaine’s fingernails are short, too. It’s no wonder, considering how often she travels on the road, the implied frequency of her involvement in brawls such as the one in the tavern three days ago. 

Gwaine is becoming very relaxed, judging by how she is leaning back into Merlin’s chest. The third time Gwaine’s soapy hair brushes Merlin’s nose, she coughs. 

“Gwaine,” she complains, blowing soap out of a nostril. “You keep bringing your head too close to me.” 

“Sorry, Merlin,” Gwaine says immediately, though she’s speaking more slowly than usual, almost slurring her words. “It just feels really good. You have magic fingers.” 

Merlin doesn’t say anything to that, but she does redouble her efforts in hair washing. She pays close attention to Gwaine’s reactions and feels triumphant when she digs her fingers into the base of Gwaine’s skull, making her emit a sudden, long moan. 

“Sorry!” Gwaine gasps, bashful and breathless. “I didn’t realise—wow, that feels good.” 

“Hmm?” Merlin wonders, and does it again. Gwaine gurgles. An idea sparks in Merlin’s mind. Her fingers track the same place—Gwaine pushes back against her, creating resistance—and then Merlin drags her fingers down Gwaine’s neck to where it meets her shoulders and presses, hard. 

“Hey—!” Gwaine yelps. Merlin ignores her and does it again, and again. 

There are lots of things one learns as an apprentice to the highest-ranked physician in Camelot. The study of the body, of muscles and pressure points and how a tense, overworked body must be stretched and plied into relaxation, is one of the many disciplines Merlin studies. For a woman like Gwaine, who spends her days fighting thugs and her nights sleeping on uncomfortable tavern beds, her body must endure a lot of stress, and Merlin can tell that it gathers especially in her neck and shoulders. 

She is all too happy to use her knowledge to Gwaine’s benefit. 

“Oh wow, Merlin, that’s good,” Gwaine is telling her, mouth running off quickly and carelessly, like she’s too confounded by good feelings to really focus on what she’s saying. It’s very endearing, and ensures that Merlin continues with her massage. “It started off not good, and even now it kind of hurts a bit, but—in a good way. Wow. Mm. I should get this done more often.” 

Merlin does a particular hard press of her thumbs into Gwaine’s neck. 

“Ow,” Gwaine says. “Okay, I’ll get this done more often, but only from you.” 

Merlin blushes furiously and fails to deny anything Gwaine says. Good thing Gwaine can’t see her right now; the teasing would be intense. 

After several more minutes of massage, the muscles along Gwaine’s neck and shoulders have become so much looser and malleable. Merlin smooths her palms across Gwaine’s skin, feeling accomplished. By this point, Gwaine is a quiet and boneless lump in the bath. Merlin is sorry to have to pick up the cup and begin rinsing Gwaine’s hair, but she receives no protests. 

Merlin gently runs her fingers through Gwaine’s hair as she rinses it with cup after cup of water. Her fingers quickly snag against tangles of hair, and it reminds her that she needs to comb it. When Merlin is certain that all the soap has been washed out, she places the cup down, leans awkwardly over the edge of the tub and stretches out her arm to pick up the comb. 

When she first attempts to run it through Gwaine’s hair, it tangles immediately. Merlin winces in sympathy. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. 

“It’s fine,” Gwaine replies. “Gods know I’ve endured worse pain. I’m used to it. My hair knots so easily.” 

Merlin frowns. “You should be more diligent with brushing it,” she scolds, except her voice is so soft that it doesn’t have any heat behind it whatsoever. 

“I will be, Merlin, I promise,” Gwaine says, amused and full of affirmation, the way she always is when Merlin asks her to do something. “But sometimes it’s just impossible no matter what I do. It’s difficult to keep this hair neat and knotless when I’m in a fight, unless I braid it.” 

“That is true,” Merlin allows. She starts working on the knots, starting at the ends of Gwaine’s hair and gently detangling them. 

“It’s easier when someone combs it for me,” Gwaine says. Ah, the teasing note is back again in her voice. 

“Is that supposed to be some sort of hint?” Merlin asks. 

Gwaine laughs, her shoulders shaking slightly. “Maybe,” she says. “But it’s true. I often get too frustrated with the knots—or too tired—and I sometimes just fall asleep with knotty hair. Which of course makes the whole situation worse.” 

Gwaine lapses into silence, but it’s the sort of silence where Merlin can tell she’s working up to saying something. When Gwaine opens her mouth again, her voice is quieter, and she says, “My mother used to help me a lot. My hair was so long when I was a child. Longer than yours, Merlin, it went down to my bottom.” 

Merlin pauses in her combing and tries to imagine Gwaine’s hair that long. As it sits now, it’s not very long: it goes past her shoulders, yes, but only to partway down her back, certainly nowhere near her bottom, and certainly not as long as is fashionable for most women in the kingdoms. 

“It was beautiful, really,” Gwaine continues. Then her voice drops even quieter, until it’s barely a murmur. “My mother was so upset when I cut it all off to become a pageboy.” 

The next brush of Merlin’s comb through Gwaine’s hair is especially tender. 

“Would you ever grow it back to that length?” Merlin asks quietly. 

“Maybe,” Gwaine muses. “It looked pretty.” 

“I think your hair now looks pretty,” Merlin tells her. 

Gwaine’s hand suddenly flies out of the water and through the air, startling Merlin. It grabs Merlin’s hand, the one not holding the comb, and draws it over her shoulder, so that Gwaine can lace her fingers through Merlin’s and hold the hand close to her chest. 

“Stop it,” Gwaine says. 

“Gwaine?” Has Merlin said something wrong? 

“Stop saying lovely things about me when I can’t see you,” Gwaine commands. 

Oh. 

“Sorry,” Merlin says, not feeling very sorry at all. 

“Oh, you—” Gwaine sits up and shuffles forwards. “Come on, that’s enough, my turn—” 

“I haven’t finished,” Merlin protests. 

“You combed most of it, and you also gave me a massage. My turn.” 

Merlin sighs and acquiesces. 

They again manoeuvre themselves gingerly in the bath. Merlin has to stand up and step around Gwaine again—and has to not think about her pussy being close to Gwaine’s face again—before she comes to settle down between Gwaine’s legs, with Gwaine’s back now up against the side of the tub. Gwaine suddenly lets out a hiss of pain, and Merlin’s hand immediately flies through the water to rest on Gwaine’s knee. 

“Is this hurting your thigh?” she asks, turning her head to the side as far as she can. 

“Uh,” Gwaine says. It seems to be taking her a moment to form her thoughts. “Uh, yes. Yeah. I mean no. I mean. It did hurt when I was moving, but now it’s okay.” 

Merlin draws her eyebrows together in confusion. “Tell me if it starts to hurt, please.” 

“I will.” 

And now Merlin is left to deal with the fact that she is sitting between Gwaine’s naked legs in a bath. 

Gwaine is oblivious to her racing thoughts. She follows the same routine Merlin had: wet Merlin’s hair with water, lather hair wash between palms, massage through hair and scalp. Every touch of her fingers to Merin’s skin makes her want to jolt, and it takes all of her willpower to keep her body’s responses neutral. She is just so unused to being touched like this. No one ever touches her willingly. Save for the occasional loose hug with a friend, all physical touch Merlin receives is purely accidental. 

Not now. Now, Gwaine is touching Merlin with palpable purpose. 

Merlin feels it when Gwaine’s fingers first slide into her hair. Smooth and firm, encouraging Merlin to press back against them to create a stronger feeling across her scalp. The way Gwaine slides all ten of her fingers underneath Merlin’s hair, so that the fingertips are pressed all over her scalp, and then presses and  _ moves _ them, in and out, in and out, tells Merlin that Gwaine’s movements are entirely intentional. 

Merlin is receiving the first hair wash and head massage she’s ever received in her life, and it feels  _ so damn good _ . 

“Wow,” Merlin whispers. Her eyes have fallen shut. Every slide of Gwaine’s fingertips makes Merlin feel like she’s being lulled into sleep. 

“Good?” Gwaine asks, somewhere near Merlin’s right ear. 

“Mm,” she says, too relaxed for words. 

Eventually, Gwaine grabs the cup again to rinse Merlin’s hair out. She has no idea how long she’s spent lying here, totally relaxed, with Gwaine’s fingers against her scalp. The bath, while still warm, is definitely not hot anymore. 

“Close your eyes,” Gwaine tells her, and Merlin does, allowing the water to wash over her face. 

When the wash is completely rinsed from Merlin’s hair, Gwaine grabs the comb and begins detangling Merlin’s hair. 

“I have a lot less knots than you,” Merlin mumbles at her. 

Gwaine huffs out a breath of a laugh. “You have lovely hair, Merlin.” 

Merlin frowns and squirms slightly. “That’s what I said. You’re copying me.” 

“It’s true.” 

Merlin tries to frown some more, but it disappears quickly in favour of a more blissed-out expression. She really doesn’t have many knots in her hair, and it makes for a shorter and more pleasant combing experience. 

“Now tell me, Merlin,” Gwaine says teasingly, once she can run the comb through all of Merlin’s hair without snagging. “Would you like a massage, too?” 

It’s a gentle tease; Merlin can tell that Gwaine is gearing up to do just that. But Merlin thinks about what would happen with Gwaine’s hands on her shoulders and neck. Her fingertips had felt so nice over Merlin’s scalp. She thinks about how she’d like to feel them somewhere else. 

Merlin shakes her head. 

“No?” Gwaine confirms. 

Instead of replying, Merlin gathers her courage, reaches around, and grabs Gwaine’s hands with her own. Somehow, Merlin feels braver when she’s not looking directly at Gwaine. When Gwaine looks at her, Merlin feels like she sees everything. It’s too much and not enough all at once; it overwhelms her. Here, looking at the wall instead of Gwaine’s deep, searching eyes, Merlin actually has enough brain space to think and make a decision. 

She pulls on Gwaine’s hands until her arms are circling around Merlin’s waist, and presses Gwaine’s palms into the skin of her naked belly. At the same time, Merlin allows herself to lounge back completely into Gwaine’s chest. 

Gwaine inhales, short and sharp, right next to Merlin’s ear. 

“Merlin,” Gwaine says, very low. 

Merlin bites her lip, suddenly nervous. 

They sit there in total stillness for seconds. And then Gwaine stretches out her hands. She presses them more firmly into Merlin’s skin, and slides them slightly across it. 

Merlin cannot stop the sigh that escapes her mouth, nor the way her head immediately falls backwards to rest against Gwaine’s shoulder. 

The feeling of having so much of Gwaine’s naked body pressed against her is almost indescribable. Merlin feels so overwhelmed that the words struggle to come to her mind. Yet she’s not overwhelmed in a negative way. Rather, that feeling meshes with the already deep-seated relaxation she’s been coaxed into by Gwaine’s clever hands in her hair, and it leaves her boneless, mindless save for the one repeating thought that murmurs,  _ it is so nice to be held like this _ . 

They stay like that for a few minutes longer. Gwaine moves her hands lazily across the expanse of Merlin’s stomach, never straying far from her sides or her bellybutton. Merlin keeps letting out these small, careful sighs, and whenever she does, Gwaine’s hands tighten momentarily on her skin. 

Eventually, Gwaine murmurs to her, breaking their luxurious silence. “Merlin, let’s get out of this bath.” 

Merlin nods. 

That is a more difficult task than expected. But somehow they manage it: Merlin hops out first, dries herself, and then helps Gwaine stand and carefully exit the bath. They follow the same method as before. Gwaine holds herself steady with her arms around Merlin’s neck, while Merlin diligently runs a fresh towel over Gwaine’s body. 

“Sorry,” Gwaine murmurs, “I’m getting you wet again.” 

“No bother,” Merlin replies immediately. 

With Gwaine mostly dry—as dry as Merlin can get her while being pushed up against her—she helps Gwaine back to the bed. 

“You know, Merlin, this wound does hurt a lot.” Gwaine winces as she is lowered onto the bed. “But gods, I do feel better after that long soak.” 

“Baths are very good for the body and the mind,” Merlin repeats her own inner thought from earlier. She tidies up the soaps they used and mops up the water that’s inevitably fallen on the floor. She then gathers Gwaine’s clothing and brings it over to the bed. 

“Merlin,” Gwaine says. There’s an odd note in her voice that Merlin cannot place. She feels a hand tugging her own, and she follows its command by sitting on the bed to the right of Gwaine, away from the thigh with the wound. The fact that they’re both still naked registers only distantly in her mind. 

Then Gwaine’s right hand lifts and she places it gently against Merlin’s cheek. 

Merlin freezes. 

“Merlin,” Gwaine says again, incredibly gentle. Her palm is warm against Merlin’s cheek. “Please tell me if I’ve read this wrong, love.” 

And then Gwaine uses her hand to guide Merlin in for a kiss. 

Merlin goes so, so willingly. She lets her lips pucker and press against Gwaine’s, and the kiss is close-mouthed and sweet and so shocking that Merlin tenses up.  _ I am kissing Gwaine _ , Merlin thinks to herself, suddenly frenzied.  _ I am kissing Gwaine as we sit naked on my bed _ . 

But her anxiety leaves just as quickly as it comes. When Gwaine pulls away, only to tilt her head and press another kiss to Merlin’s lips, Merlin feels herself sink into it fully. 

Merlin herself is not very experienced with kissing, especially with women, so she is grateful that Gwaine takes things slow. They share short, simple kisses that gradually begin to stretch on for longer. Merlin grows used to the feeling of Gwaine’s lips against her own. Merlin has no concern for the rest of her body; her entire mind is focused on the new sensations coming from her own face. 

The next kiss Gwaine gives her is open-mouthed, as Gwaine’s lips part and firmly press around Merlin’s bottom lip. 

It’s wetter than before. Merlin furrows her brow in concentration, and on the next kiss she opens her mouth too, just slightly, so that Gwaine’s bottom lip is between Merlin’s own lips, and Merlin can now taste a hint of Gwaine’s saliva. 

They kiss like that again, and again. They swap so that Merlin now has Gwaine’s bottom lip between her own. Merlin tilts her head, nuzzling into Gwaine’s hand. Their lips make soft smacking noises every time they pull apart. 

Merlin quickly learns how much she loves this. 

Gwaine tries to twist further towards Merlin, and suddenly winces, breaking away from the kiss. 

Merlin’s body freezes. “It hurts,” she says, not a question but a statement. 

“Yeah,” Gwaine confirms, looking completely dejected. 

Meanwhile, a voice in Merlin’s head tells her:  _ Gwaine told you the truth. She clearly wants to keep going, but she was in pain and kept her promise and told you about it.  _

Merlin knew Gwaine would. But having this physical confirmation of how Gwaine keeps her word to Merlin makes her feel even warmer inside than the kisses did. 

“Come on, lie down on your back,” Merlin coaxes her. Gwaine’s been so good by telling her her injury hurts. Merlin wants to reward her. 

(Merlin doesn’t want to stop kissing her.) 

She helps Gwaine lean backwards and shift her legs onto the bed. Merlin ensures that Gwaine is lying straight down the middle of the bed, so that there is room on either side of her for Merlin’s knees. 

Merlin is certain that she has never seen Gwaine’s eyes widen as much as they do when Merlin swings a knee over and straddles her stomach. 

“Merlin…” Gwaine’s voice sounds positively reverent. 

Merlin feels a bit overwhelmed. She was buoyed by a wave of confidence, but now that she’s sitting on Gwaine, her legs spread so wide and open and the wetness in her crotch pressing directly onto Gwaine’s stomach, she’s feeling a bit unsure. But Gwaine replaces her hand on Merlin’s cheek and guides her down to meet her lips, and it’s easy to let those uncomfortable feelings fade away into their pleasant, heated kiss. 

And oh, do they  _ kiss _ . Merlin has traded a few kisses with others before, but never has she had the time or the desire to explore someone else’s mouth as thoroughly as she is now. Her own inexperience seems glaringly obvious to her, and she desperately tries to learn as quickly as she can. Gwaine doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. When Merlin kisses her a bit too hard, Gwaine just slows their kisses down, and Merlin quickly learns to languish in the brief pauses when their lips come apart and change angle before joining together once more. When Gwaine opens her mouth and Merlin’s tongue invades, a bit too wet and uncoordinated, Gwaine simply places her other hand on Merlin’s other cheek, so that both hands are now framing Merlin’s face, and tilts Merlin where she needs her. Merlin learns the art of gentle licks. She learns the art of sucking on Gwaine’s tongue, and places her own tongue between Gwaine’s lips for her to suck on, too. 

“Mmm,” Merlin cannot stop the moans slipping out of her mouth. They vibrate through the kiss and spark a chain reaction within Gwaine, who moans in return and pulls away, only to lean in at a slightly different angle and place a bruising kiss on Merlin’s lips that lingers and feels like it’s sucking Merlin into a daze. 

Merlin could happily kiss Gwaine for the rest of her life, with only short breaks for food, water and more baths.  _ That _ would be the dream. 

Merlin has placed her hands down on either side of Gwaine’s head to brace herself, but Gwaine doesn’t need to do anything of the sort. Once she’s ensured that Merlin is close enough to her for kisses, Gwaine’s hands are free to roam, and they leave Merlin’s face in favour settling, broad and calloused, on Merlin’s hips. 

Merlin shivers with her entire body. 

“Hmm,” Gwaine muses into their kiss. She breaks away, and Merlin stares at her wet lips as she asks, “You like that, do you?” 

Merlin pants into her mouth as Gwaine’s hands slowly slide from her hips, up to her waist, and then they  _ don’t stop _ . 

The first brush of Gwaine’s fingers against the undersides of Merlin’s breasts immediately makes her shiver. Gwaine’s searching hands don’t stop until they are completely covering both of her breasts, holding them, her palms against Merlin’s nipples. Merlin’s breasts are smaller than Gwaine’s, certainly, but still provide an ample handful for Gwaine’s hands, especially in Merlin’s current position, which has them hanging down, swinging and sultry. 

“Oh,” Merlin vocalises, before leaning back down to capture Gwaine’s lips in a much more bruising kiss. 

“Mm, you definitely like that,” Gwaine teases. Merlin kisses her again to shut her up. 

It only takes a few seconds before they’re panting against each other’s mouths, lips open and wet and searching. Gwaine’s strong, nimble hands are delicate on Merlin’s breasts, but as their kiss intensifies, the gentle swipes of her palms turn into full kneads, proprietary in a way that makes something inside Merlin thrill. Somehow, Gwaine seems to know exactly how hard to squeeze her without it becoming too painful. And when she stops in favour of gently pinching Merlin’s nipples, the sparks of small and sudden pain-pleasure do  _ something _ to her brain and body, and she finds herself moaning and grinding down with her hips. 

It’s in that moment that Merlin realises that she’s been rubbing herself against Gwaine’s stomach this entire time, leaving a wet patch of her own slickness that only grows bigger with every slide of her hips. 

Merlin jerks away from the kiss, her cheeks burning. She sits up fully in Gwaine’s lap. 

“Gwaine,” she pleads, and oh no, there’s a note of panic in her tone now. 

“Merlin,” Gwaine says, sturdy and patient. She’s taken her hands off of Merlin’s breasts and has reached out to hold Merlin’s own hands instead. “It’s okay, Merlin, we can stop, we can fall asleep, anything you want, love.” 

Merlin shakes her head. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be here; she just doesn’t know what to do. 

“I don’t want to stop,” she tries to explain. “I just don’t know how. To… uh. You.” 

The words won’t come. Frustration bubbles within her, and she frowns. Gwaine, however, doesn’t seem slightly fazed. 

“Take a deep breath,” she says. Merlin does. “Hold it. Hold it. A bit longer… and release, slowly.” 

Merlin feels a lot better after a long exhale, and the thoughts in her head start to fall into a semblance of logical lines. 

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” Gwaine says gently. 

Merlin swallows. She takes another deep breath. “I would like to… bring you pleasure.” 

Gwaine nods encouragingly. 

“But I don’t know how. I only know how to… myself.” Merlin bites her lip. She hates feeling like she doesn’t know something. Like she’s left out and uneducated and still a kid from a very small, poor town. Especially when she’s sitting astride Gwaine, a woman who, while around Merlin’s age, seems to know so much more than her. Gwaine has travelled and she fights and she probably fucks, too, on the road; she’s definitely more experienced than Merlin. Merlin doesn’t begrudge her that in the slightest; it’s Merlin’s own incompetence that is grinding against her temper. 

It turns out that she really shouldn’t have worried. As with all things when it comes to her relationship with Gwaine, this is easy. 

“Oh really,” Gwaine says. There’s a spark lit up within her eyes. “You know how to pleasure yourself?” 

That was not what Merlin expected her to focus on. She nods, a bit hesitant. 

“So I take it you’ve pleasured yourself right here, in this bed? Where I’m lying right now?” Gwaine doesn’t sound confused or pitying. She sounds, well,  _ turned on _ . 

“Yes,” Merlin says, suddenly sensing a new opportunity and feeling bold about it. “Exactly where you’re lying. I’ve touched myself, and covered my mouth when I got too loud—”

Gwaine reaches both hands up to Merlin’s shoulders and yanks her downwards, pulling her into a fierce kiss. It’s wet and sloppy and it tells Merlin that Gwaine is too overcome by lust right now to try and make it perfect. With that, all of Merlin’s own worries fade away. She can do this. She wants to do this. 

“Show me,” Gwaine is gasping. The air between them is hot and humid. Gwaine’s hands make their way back to palm Merlin’s breasts, eliciting a sudden  _ oh _ from Merlin. “Come on, sweetheart, show me, I want to see.” 

Who is Merlin to deny her? It would take a much stronger-willed woman. As it is, Merlin feels so overwhelmed that her fingers shake, clumsy with arousal. With her left hand planted firmly next to Gwaine’s head to support herself, Merlin lifts up onto her knees slightly. Her pussy is separated from those wet trails along Gwaine’s stomach, and there’s now room for Merlin’s right hand to slither down her own body. 

When she parts her folds with her middle finger, her whole body tenses. She’s been so turned on for so long, now—since before they even got in the bath, since the moment she saw Gwaine getting undressed, so much gorgeous skin on display. When she dips her finger down to her entrance, Merlin finds that she is  _ dripping _ wet. Wetter than she’s ever been in her life, she thinks. 

She has to give Gwaine another kiss then. She slips her tongue into Gwaine’s mouth—she wants to feel that gentle suction, and Gwaine immediately gives it to her. 

“Gwaine,” Merlin gasps, when they pull apart with an incredibly lewd smacking sound. “Can you—in me, can you please—”

Merlin can barely get the words out. Her head feels clouded with lust and embarrassment. Luckily, Gwaine seems to know exactly what she’s asking for. As she angles her head up to draw Merlin into another kiss, one of Gwaine’s hands leaves Merlin’s breast and trails down her stomach, through the hair at her crotch, and down to join Merlin’s own finger trailing through the narrow passage between her labia. 

Gwaine doesn’t pause. She’s a natural. It takes her two seconds to find Merlin’s entrance and sink her middle finger, the longest finger, all the way into Merlin’s pussy. 

“Yes!” Merlin cannot stop her cry. She can feel her orgasm hurtling towards her, especially when she finds the nub of her clitoris and starts rubbing around its edges. 

“Gods, Merlin, you are so gorgeous, look at you.” Gwaine’s voice is frantic and deep. She had begun with a few slow, searching thrusts, but now she speeds up her movements, shoving her finger in as deep as it will go each time. 

It’s too much. It’s too much. Merlin needs more. 

She’s barely able to concentrate on anything beyond the sensations on her clit and in her vagina, but she gathers enough awareness to plant another deep kiss on Gwaine’s lips. Gwaine still tastes gorgeous and overwhelming and Merlin pulls away eventually to demand, “Another.” 

“Merlin,” Gwaine groans, and does as she’s told, slipping her ring finger inside of Merlin too. 

The stretch is  _ perfect.  _ It’s exactly what Merlin wanted. When Gwaine fucks Merlin with her fingers, she can maintain a speed and depth that Merlin herself struggles to when she’s on her own and coordinating her two hands at once. Now, Merlin’s hips are jerking downwards to meet Gwaine’s short, sharp thrusts, and she only has to worry about coordinating her fingers over and around her clit. Past the rush of arousal in her ears, she can hear the wet sounds coming from her pussy every time Gwaine pushes her fingers inside. The noises make her blush as they mingle with their heaving, laboured breaths, riling Merlin up even more. 

Her orgasm builds quickly. Merlin cannot stop the repeating thoughts inside her head that scream about how Gwaine is  _ inside her _ . How Gwaine’s other hand is still on Merlin’s breast, possessive in a way that short-circuits Merlin’s brain. Gwaine is  _ everywhere _ , in Merlin’s pussy and owning her body and licking at her lips. Merlin suddenly adjusts the angle of her own finger so that she’s rubbing directly over her clit and then it hits her, building and building and cresting, the most intense orgasm of Merlin’s life crushing through her entire body. 

She barely registers how her voice has risen in pitch, how she cannot stop herself from saying “Oh, oh, oh, oh!” over and over. The walls of Merlin’s vagina threaten to crush Gwaine’s fingers, but Gwaine doesn’t stop her movements, fingering Merlin all throughout her orgasm, pausing only when Merlin finally seems to be coming down, hips stuttering to a standstill. 

As she heaves out laboured breaths, riding out the ends of her orgasm, Merlin reaches that point where she cannot touch herself anymore; it’s too much. Gwaine must be watching for this, because as soon as Merlin brings her hand away, Gwaine carefully slides her fingers out of Merlin, too. Grateful and mind-blank, Merlin lets herself fall, without any grace or finesse, onto Gwaine’s chest. Merlin feels wet and messy and the most sated she can ever remember herself feeling. 

They pant into the silence. Merlin’s pussy tingles deliciously. 

“Wow,” she whispers. 

“Mm,” Gwaine groans. It sounds muffled. Merlin raises her head, tilting to look up at Gwaine—and sees that Gwaine has two fingers—the two fingers that have just been inside of Merlin—in her mouth. 

“Gwaine!” Merlin protests weakly. 

“Gods, Merlin, you taste so good,” Gwaine tells her, withdrawing the digits. 

Merlin cannot look at her while she says this, while she opens her mouth and licks around those fingertips again. It looks obscene and lascivious and it’s turning Merlin on, in spite of the Earth-shattering orgasm she’s just experienced only moments before. 

So instead, Merlin tilts her head back down and buries it between Gwaine’s breasts. 

They are bigger than Merlin’s. The men’s shirts that Gwaine wore over her blouses definitely hid much of their size; Merlin suspects that is one of the reasons why Gwaine wears them in the first place. Merlin gets her hands on either side of Gwaine’s breasts. She trails her fingertips along the sides, teasing, before she eventually palms them fully and pushes them in to cradle her own face. 

Gwaine’s skin smells of clean soap and light sweat and sex. Merlin would like to stay here forever. 

“Merlin,” Gwaine says, strained. Merlin’s ears are muffled by Gwaine’s breasts; it’s delightful. Gwaine’s hand comes to rest in Merlin’s hair. “Merlin, please.” 

Eventually, she lifts her head. “Yes?” 

Gods, Gwaine looks incredible. Her hair is messy and her eyes are blown wide and her lips are  _ so _ red and swollen from all their kissing; Merlin has no doubts that her own look the same. 

“Merlin,” Gwaine says again, sounding a bit desperate, “Merlin, love, please let me taste you.” 

Merlin frowns. Gwaine just gave her the best orgasm of her life. She would like very much to return the favour. 

Gwaine seems to know exactly what she’s thinking. “Please,” she repeats. “I really want to, Merlin, please, please—” 

“How?” Merlin asks, because she could not ever imagine denying Gwaine anything, especially when she’s asking so nicely. 

“Come up here,” Gwaine tells her. She brings both hands to the insides of Merlin’s knees and tugs once. She can’t possibly mean—? 

“I’ll crush you,” Merlin says, incredulous. 

“You won’t.” Gwaine sounds very certain. Merlin sits up on her haunches and starts to shuffle her knees forwards, still on either side of Gwaine’s torso. She is stopped suddenly by Gwaine’s hand on her cheek, bringing her down for a kiss. Gwaine’s other hand goes straight back to Merlin’s breast. 

The kiss is slow and sweet, a nice contrast to the heated passion of only a few minutes prior. “Gods, I love your mouth,” Gwaine tells her when they pull apart. “I love your breasts, your stomach, your thighs, your—”

Merlin silences her with another kiss. No one has ever told her such words in her life! Gwaine’s compliments are spoken so vehemently, as though they are facts. It makes Merlin feel weak and overwhelmed. It makes her feel like there’s a lot she loves about Gwaine, too. 

She’s speechless, but luckily, Gwaine has re-focused on her goal. She slides her broad, beautiful palms down Merlin’s back, over her arse, and down the backs of her thighs until she’s tugging at her knees again. “Come on, love, please.” 

Merlin continues her shuffling. Her legs tremble with anticipation when she finally gets in position, knees either side of Gwaine’s head. She’s suddenly grateful that her bed has a headboard, as it’s the perfect height for her to grab onto for balance. 

“Gwaine,” Merlin calls to her, seeking reassurance. She knows Gwaine has just had her fingers inside Merlin’s own pussy. She knows they’ve bathed together already. But it still feels very vulnerable to be spread open like this, right in front of Gwaine’s face. Merlin’s mind is suddenly accosted by uncomfortable thoughts: she hasn’t trimmed her hair down there in a while; she can’t stop her legs trembling; she’s only ever seen herself fully a few times; what if she doesn’t look good? What will Gwaine think? 

Again, though, she needn’t have worried. 

“Merlin, you’re beautiful,” Gwaine breathes. The warm exhalation tickles along Merlin’s vulva, making her shiver. Gwaine isn’t looking up at Merlin—she has eyes only for the dripping pussy in front of her. 

“Gwaine,” Merlin says, plaintive, overwhelmed, lost. Gwaine’s hands come up to grip the underside of Merlin’s thighs. Merlin is grateful for the support—

And then Gwaine licks, gentle but determined, up the entire strip of her pussy. 

Merlin jerks involuntarily. Her hands grip the headboard tighter, and she gasps. 

“Easy,” Gwaine murmurs to her. The sound of her voice, that careful word, immediately settles Merlin. For a moment. Then Gwaine pulls her in for another long lick. 

“Gwaine!” Merlin gasps. 

Gwaine, thankfully, takes things easy on Merlin at first. She gives her soft, little licks up and down her labia. Merlin is surprised at how good and comforting it feels—it’s pleasurable, and it also feels like home, like she could stay here for a long time, as long as Gwaine would allow. 

Occasionally Gwaine dips down lower to Merlin’s entrance, and swirls her tongue over it, teasing as though she’s going to breach her and then sliding away— _ that _ always elicits a full-body shiver from Merlin. Gwaine studiously avoids Merlin’s clit, somehow knowing that it’s too soon after her previous orgasm. 

Merlin feels her muscles relaxing more and more with each passing minute. She relaxes so much, in fact, that she nearly sinks down completely on Gwaine’s face, before tensing up and rising away. 

Gwaine makes a disapproving noise. 

“You can, Merlin,” she says wetly. Merlin hasn’t been able to bear the thought of looking down yet, but now, at the sound of Gwaine’s wrecked voice, she steels herself and glances. Gods, Gwaine is a  _ sight _ — hair tousled messily on the pillow, eyes wide, the lower half of her face covered in saliva and Merlin’s fluid. Merlin can’t stop the strangled sound that echoes through her own throat. Gwaine just looks too good. 

“I’ll crush you,” Merlin repeats herself from earlier. Gwaine’s fingers suddenly squeeze into her thighs hard, and Merlin gasps. 

“You won’t,” Gwaine says. “I’ll stop you.” 

Merlin trusts her. Slowly, carefully, she starts to transfer some of her weight into Gwaine’s hands. They hold steady. Gwaine starts licking her again, and after that she quickly finds her muscles loosening up. 

Gwaine’s arms are  _ strong _ . Merlin had noticed this previously, with furtive, admiring glances to Gwaine’s toned muscles, but it’s different to be given a practical demonstration. Merlin keeps leaning into Gwaine’s hands until she’s almost sitting there, and Gwaine holds her as though the weight is nothing. She doesn’t even seem to notice it, too engrossed in burying her nose and lips and tongue in Merlin’s pussy. 

Feeling reassured that she is not going to suffocate Gwaine, Merlin starts to really lose herself to pleasure. 

It’s been long enough and Gwaine has been gentle enough that Merlin feels ready to go again. When she has the time—and the energy—Merlin enjoys bringing herself to a second orgasm, and the feelings are familiar here, just more intense, because the most beautiful woman Merlin has ever seen is currently eating her out. 

With much of her weight safely in Gwaine’s hands, Merlin feels her hips starting to thrust down against Gwaine’s lips. She stills when she realises what she’s doing. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she whispers. Gwaine shakes her head in the negative—it sends her tongue from side to side and oh, that change of direction feels very nice. 

“Do it,” Gwaine urges her. She holds her tongue out as far as it can go and flattens it. When her eyes flick up to Merlin’s, Merlin thinks she might orgasm right then and there. Gwaine looks  _ obscene _ . There is no other word to describe it. She wants Merlin’s pussy grinding on her tongue. She is  _ demanding _ it. 

Merlin has never seen anything more arousing in her life. 

She lowers her hips down, guided by Gwaine’s hands, and starts to gently rock against Gwaine’s tongue. 

It feels  _ so good _ . Merlin is the one in control, now, and she doesn’t avoid attention on her clit anymore. Her arm and thigh muscles are straining as she rubs herself back and forth, and Gwaine’s hands on her thighs help her, actively urging her to grind faster, harder, longer. 

Merlin follows their encouragement. She’s making noises again—she can’t help herself, even when she’s on her own she’s loud. Gwaine’s tongue is warm and wet and slippery and totally unlike anything Merlin has ever felt before. The wet friction she creates against her clit hurtles her towards orgasm. 

“Please!” Merlin gasps. She flings her head back, practically bouncing on Gwaine’s face. She’d be worried if not for the fact that Gwaine’s hands tighten even harder—Merlin may have fingertip bruises on her tomorrow—and pulls her in quicker, encouraging Merlin to let go, to really lose herself in the dizzying, wet slide of Gwaine’s tongue. 

“Gwaine,” Merlin pants, “Gwaine, Gwaine, Gwaine!” 

Gwaine moans, once, vibrations running through her tongue and Merlin gasps and maybe screams a bit and comes, shaking violently, leaking her fluid all over Gwaine’s already saturated face. 

If Merlin’s first orgasm overwhelmed her, this second one has replaced her whole brain with nothing but air. It takes her longer to come down this time. When she can start to think in sentences that stretch beyond the realm of  _ wow those were the best and hottest orgasms of my life _ , Merlin realises that only one of Gwaine’s hands is holding her up, now. The other one isn’t touching Merlin; Gwaine is touching herself. 

Gwaine is letting out small moans straight into Merlin’s pussy as her fingers rub furiously over her own clit. 

“Gwaine,” Merlin moans. Even in her post-orgasm brainlessness, she knows how much she desperately wants to get down there and do the job herself, help Gwaine find her own pleasure, too. But Gwaine’s hand on Merlin’s thigh stops her from moving away. 

“Gwaine?” Merlin asks. One of her hands leaves the headboard. She draws it down and shakily runs her fingers through strands of Gwaine’s hair. 

“Mm,” Gwaine says, which doesn’t reveal much, but it sounds very positive, so Merlin follows her instinct, grabs a handful of Gwaine’s hair close to her scalp, and gently closes her fist, pulling lightly on the hair. 

Gwaine whines as her eyes flutter shut—oh, she really liked that. Gwaine’s shoulder bumps against Merlin’s leg and she moves her hand faster against herself. 

A thought dawns on Merlin in this moment: she felt so overwhelmed by Gwaine, who had her lips and hands and tongue and fingers everywhere when Merlin came, twice. Perhaps Gwaine wants to feel overwhelmed, too, by Merlin closing her in with her legs. This suddenly makes sense to her. Especially as it’s becoming quite apparent to Merlin that Gwaine really, really likes how she tastes. 

“Gwaine,” Merlin says softly. She’s still feeling sensitive, but she carefully lowers herself and starts to grind, lightly, on Gwaine’s face again. “Gwaine,” Merlin repeats herself, and grabs another handful of Gwaine’s hair and pulls again, nothing hard, but enough for Gwaine to feel it. 

And feel it she does. 

Gwaine’s entire body seizes up when her orgasm hits. Her back arches off the bed, pushing her mouth further into Merlin’s pussy. This makes Merlin gasp and tug on Gwaine’s hair more, and Gwaine groans, spasming beneath Merlin, rolling through her release. 

When it finally seems as though Gwaine has finished, Merlin manages to remove herself from straddling Gwaine’s head. Her legs wobble so much that she has to grab onto the headboard, the bed, anywhere she can as she awkwardly clambers down so that she can lie at Gwaine’s side. She pushes her breasts against Gwaine’s body, her stomach, her thighs, everywhere she can get their bodies to touch. Her arm comes to lay across Gwaine’s stomach. 

_ Wow _ , is all Merlin can think. 

“Merlin,” Gwaine starts, voice hoarse. She doesn’t say anything more for another minute or two, which Merlin is fine with. Both of them need some time to come down from their insane heights of pleasure. Merlin closes her eyes, enjoys the feeling of her cheek pressed to Gwaine’s bare chest, and simply breathes. 

Eventually, Gwaine opens her mouth again and speaks. “That was... mind-blowing.” 

Merlin, somehow, has the energy to make a disbelieving noise somewhere in the back of her throat. “You’re telling me.” 

Silence. And then—

It starts with a snort. A badly-held-back splutter. And then Merlin is giggling uncontrollably, and Gwaine is laughing along with her. Their chests jerk in time with their chuckles, and Gwaine lifts her hands to cover her own face. Before this evening, Merlin could never have imagined that she could have marvelous sex with another woman and then giggle about it afterwards. The laughter they share echoes throughout Merlin’s small room, saturating the air with joyful disbelief. Their laughter says:  _ did that really just happen? Was that really as good as it was?  _

The answer is, of course,  _ yes _ . 

“Gwaine,” Merlin chokes a bit on her own snickers. “Gwaine, that was—I have never felt like that, ever.” 

“Neither,” Gwaine replies, and when Merlin lifts her head to meet Gwaine’s eyes, her grin is jubilant. “Merlin, that was incredible.” 

“Gwaine,” Merlin says. Gods, but Gwaine’s face is a sight to behold. It’s still covered in Merlin’s slick. Gwaine looks perfectly content with this. Merlin lifts her hands and starts to clean it off, wiping her hands on the bedsheets before returning to Gwaine’s face again. 

“Merlin, come here,” Gwaine says, and Merlin is on the move before she even finishes saying it, sealing her lips with Gwaine’s. They kiss tenderly, and mostly without tongue, just enjoying the feeling of their lips pressed together. Merlin feels wet in all sorts of places across her body, and she imagines Gwaine feels the same. The sheets definitely need changing and the whole room reeks of sex. Merlin has never felt happier. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Gwaine tells her when she pulls away. Merlin smiles and tries to hide her face in Gwaine’s neck, but Gwaine doesn’t let her. “No, don’t do that, it’s true. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever set my eyes upon.” 

“Gwaine!” Merlin protests, but she smiles. She decides immediately that she needs to return Gwaine’s compliments and speak what her heart has been hiding away. “That’s you, my love. When I saw you in that tavern… I was shocked. I couldn’t see anyone else.” 

Gwaine seems to not know how to deal with such kind and honest words either, because she just pulls Merlin in for another kiss. 

Merlin could easily do this every day. Wake up with Gwaine, care for her, work with her, love her… It’s only been three days, but. She doesn’t think she’s alone in her feelings. 

She lets their relaxed kiss end, and with her lips free, she asks, “Gwaine?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart.” 

“Will you stay awhile?” Merlin doesn’t mean here, in this bed. She means here, in Camelot. She knows that Gwaine is a traveller, and Merlin would never deny her the freedom she fought and trained for. Merlin just cannot bear the thought of her new relationship with Gwaine being fleeting and temporary. Not when they have connected so effortlessly. Not when Merlin has never felt so comfortable and ready to grow with someone. 

She is asking a lifelong traveller to settle; she is justifiably nervous. 

But she needn’t have been. 

“Merlin, I was already planning on it,” Gwaine tells her softly. “Yes, I am a traveller. I’m not sure anything will change about that. But this room is the first place I’ve visited that I want to return to.” 

Hope blossoms, full and invigorating, through Merlin’s chest. 

“Really?” Merlin asks. 

“Really,” Gwaine confirms. The arm she has around Merlin’s back tightens, and Merlin reciprocates with her arm across Gwaine’s stomach. Merlin lays her head back down on Gwaine’s chest, and they hold each other together. 

Merlin is not sure what their future holds. But as she and Gwaine settle into their embrace, sinking slowly into sleep, Merlin smiles. She knows how she feels. She knows how Gwaine feels. For now, that is more than enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope this was to your liking, skatzaa! Take care during these times!
> 
> Find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/violia_)


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